Nobody Ever Became A Writer Just By

Life Plays The Same Lovely And Agonizing Joke On All Of Us.

Later She Remembered All The Hours Of The Afternoon As Happy -- One Of Those Uneventful Times That Seem At The Moment Only A Link Between Past And Future Pleasure, But Turn Out To Have Been The Pleasure Itself.

I'm A Cynical Idealist.

All I Think Of Ever Is That I Love You.

To Create Souls In Men, To Create Fine Happiness And Fine Despair She Must Remain Deeply Proud - Proud To Be Inviolate, Proud Also To Be Melting, To Be Passionate And Possessed.